Jubileetalia
by KaleidoscopeKreation
Summary: England is celebrating the 60th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation. America, good boyfriend that he is, decides to keep him company. It took America a while to get hold of a pair of spectacles in his prescription with Union Jack frames, of course, but for a celebration like this, he figures it's worth the effort. One must do one's country proud, after all!


**In dubious honour of...**

**My dear friend GypsyxBells, whose birthday happened _fairly _recently  
**

** Her Majesty the Queen**

**The Royal Family**

**The BBC**

**The United Kingdom as a whole**

**And, of course, The Creator, Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**I give you...**

* * *

**Jubileetalia**

(Working Title)

**~O~**

England managed to shove America off him for long enough to hiss:

'What the _bloody hell _do you think you're doing here? Your boss told me yesterday that you had too many pre-election campaigns to even think about – '

America flapped his hand impatiently. 'Come off it, Artie, all they wanted me to do was stand around looking pretty. I'd much rather be here. I mean, how many times in history does the ruling monarch of my favourite island celebrate her _diamond jubilee_? I want to say that I was there!'

'It's happened twice in the last two hundred years, _actually,_' England retorted, folding his arms and giving America an up-and-down glare. 'There was no reason why you had to break off your work and join the party – _especially _not in that ridiculous get-up!'

America glanced modestly down at his colour-coordinated outfit. 'You may call it ridiculous, but you have no idea how many strings I had to pull to get hold of Union Jack spectacle frames at such short notice.'

England gave a huge sigh, fluttering his fringe. 'It's clearly no use arguing with you,' he said, in a tone of deepest resignation. 'You're here now, so I suppose that the best thing for you to do is get on this barge and try not to eat _all _the canapés.'

'Hell yeah!' America cheered, bounding forward and giving England another rib-crushing hug. 'Thanks Artie. Y'know, you really are just _too_ cute.'

England felt his face grow hot. 'If you say that in front of _any _member of the royal party, I swear that I will push you into the river.'

**~O~**

'Hey, England, you know what you said about those canapés? Well, I didn't eat _all _of them, exactly, but –'

'Shh!' said England, holding up a hand. 'I'm counting.'

America frowned. 'Counting what?'

'The number of times that those sodding BBC presenters have used the words 'iconic'. They're also a sight too fond of 'fantastic', and about five different people have said that the Queen is beaming when any idiot could see that she's grimacing with cold!' England pulled his eyebrows together into a deep scowl. 'I don't know what the BBC's coming too, really. Some awful bint caked in make-up was just interviewing the war veterans up on the HMS battleship, and I _can't _believe how disrespectful she was being. Asking them about their survival stories like they were charming last-weekend anecdotes, calling them by their Christian names and then getting _those _wrong half the time... I'm going to have to take the chairman up on this, it's absolutely unacceptable!'

'Oh darling, you're magnificent when you're angry,' America sighed.

'And _you_ can't be serious for one second!' England directed a furious green glare in his direction. 'Honestly, I almost wished that you'd stayed in Washington, it would be less embarrassing for everyone involved.'

America leant backwards, his hands held up in an appeasing gesture. 'Okay, okay, okay,' he said, 'I'm sorry that your reporters are so crappy. Why don't you come up on deck and watch the city going by for real instead of getting all steamed up down here?' he nodded towards England's laptop. 'You can always watch that on iPlayer later. I'm sure someone on Twitter will be counting the number of stupid words, anyway.'

For the first time that day, England nodded in agreement, pressing the 'off' button and standing up. 'You're right. A breath of fresh air will do me good.'

'And we're just about to pass by that theatre where they're showing _War Horse_. Liz loves that play, right? And I heard someone say they're going to have the horse up on the roof!'

'Don't call my Queen "Liz", Alfred, it's entirely inappropriate. But yes, I'm sure that horse will bring a smile to _her Majesty's_ face, despite the weather.' The two of them began to wend their way through the throngs of guests up to the deck. 'I would quite like to see Joey up there myself, even if it's only from a distance.'

America nodded enthusiastically, and, ignoring England's grumbles, took his hand and towed him rapidly through the crowd. 'When I was talking to Liz-sorry-the-Queen earlier up on deck, she said that the horse actors' visit had been one of the high points of her year. She must really love horses, she seemed totally – oh, hey there, Kate!'

America brought them to a stop directly in front of Princess Katherine Middleton, who seemed rather startled at the sudden appearance of a six-foot-tall, blonde American appearing suddenly in her path. 'Good afternoon sir,' she said with valiant politeness. 'Are you enjoying the pageant?'

'Yes we are, your highness, and it is wonderful to see you here,' England said, elbowing America out of the way and bowing very low. 'How are you? Might I compliment you on your stunning outfit? It really stands out in the – '

'At least as good as Pippa's dress at your wedding last year,' America grinned, 'and folks were talking about that for – _ow, _England, that was my foot!'

'I'm sorry for my friend Alfred's lack of social propriety, your Highness,' England continued, adjusting his weight so that it was no longer pressing in its entirety down on America's shoe. 'He's American, you see.'

Kate glanced back and forth between them for a moment, and Arthur realised that she, like so many Prince consorts and Princesses before her, was remembering that secret that she had been told as a member by marriage of the royal family, putting two and two together and knowing exactly who he was. More than that, though: she was looking down at their hands, still linked, and then up at America's face, and finally forming a conclusion that made a smile spring to her lips and a blush to her cheeks.

'You mean, he's _America,'_ she said humorously, 'and honestly, don't worry about it. Over the years, I think that the average Briton has learnt to love the USA.'

'And we sure as hell love Britain right back!' America affirmed, giving England's hand a squeeze. 'You should have seen the turnout for your wedding last year, Kate. Everyone across the pond totally loved you.'

She gave one of her hugely radiant white smiles. 'That means a great deal to me... Alfred? Is that what we call you?'

America nodded. 'It's good to know that you're in on the secret.'

She suddenly looked serious. 'I'd never tell anyone, of course. But it is such a privilege to be "in the know"... Perhaps on more than one level.' She looked down at their clasped hands once again, and as he met her eyes England felt his cheeks flush.

'Well, you know the old saying: "as long as they don't do it in the street and frighten the horses",' he offered, keeping his voice light.

Kate laughed. 'Maybe we'd better keep below deck for this next bit. We don't want to scare old Joey the war-horse.'

'I don't think that will be necessary. We'll be on our best behaviour, _won't _we, Alfred?'

America gave a massive smile, though England was unsure how much actual sincerity there was behind it. 'Yeah, sure!'

'It was wonderful to talk to you, your Highness,' England bowed again, 'but we'd best be on our way. We want to take a breath of fresh air before the weather gets any worse, and I'd like to see how her Majesty is doing.'

Kate looked ever so slightly disappointed. 'Of course. Well, it was lovely to finally meet you, Arthur, Alfred.'

'You too, Kate!' Alfred called as Arthur in his turn began to drag the two of them up onto the deck.

'I suppose it was going to encounter us sooner or later,' he said in an undertone, as America caught him up.

'What, you mean meet her nation in person?'

'Yeah,' England huddled his coat more firmly around him, warding off the chill breeze that blew between the swags and gilded supports of the barge deck. 'I mean, she knew _about_ our existence, obviously, the whole royal family does, but she's never actually met me before – and nobody told her about us, as in, well, _us._' He gestured vaguely at America and then himself.

America adjusted his spectacles slightly. 'Well, yeah, it could have gone worse. She probably had a crap-ton of questions to ask us, though. Why did you run away so quick?'

England paused, running his cold thumb over the back of America's hand, savouring the warmth and guiltily wishing that this event could have taken place in a Californian summer rather than an English one. 'Now isn't the time to talk about all that,' he said finally, 'it's not quiet or private enough. I mean, can you imagine what would happen if some media person overheard?'

They both shuddered slightly at the thought.

'And besides, I wanted to get out here before we go past the national theatre. All that footage of the BBC acting like idiots really... Oh, America, _look!_'

He ran to the side of the barge and leant out over the edge, almost hanging from it, as they passed a massive group of people standing in formation to look like a giant Union Jack.

'What a brilliant idea!' he exclaimed, looking up and down the river with delight. 'I would honestly never have thought of – and, oh, there's Joey, up there on the balcony!'

America followed his pointing finger to see, tiny from their distance, the figure of a horse half-rearing on the top of the national theatre. As they watched, it shifted a little from side to side, lifting its head up and down as its mane rustled in the wind. From this distance, he could almost believe that it was alive.

'And her majesty, she loves it!' England beamed, gesturing over at his ruling monarch as she looked up at the horse, her face crinkled into a smile. 'Come on, Alfred, let's go over and talk to her.'

'Okay, as long as you're sure she won't mind me being...'

But England, in his eagerness, had already disappeared among the crowds.

**~O~**

Arthur waited until the current large clump of well-wishers had moved away and then reached forward and gently tapped her shoulder. 'Excuse me, your Majesty?'

She turned around, fast but not too fast, and her steadfast, solicitous expression changed to one of genuine delight. 'My dear Arthur! I'm so glad that you're here. How are you?' She took his hand between both of hers in a handshake that was still surprisingly firm.

'I'm absolutely fine, your Majesty,' Arthur said, smiling, 'but more to the point, I hope that you are too. It's bloody freezing up here; I hope that you and Philip can cope.'

She laughed. 'We may be old and grey, Arthur, but that doesn't mean that we can't cope with a little English weather. I've been colder than this in the stands at Ascot, believe you me.'

'Won't you at least sit in your lovely red chairs?' Arthur said, gesturing towards the pristine scarlet-and-gilt thrones beside them. 'Or do you want t hand them over to the museum in mint condition?'

'Maybe later. I'm happy to stand at the moment, and just look out over the river.' She paused, and both of them fell silent for a moment, looking out over the Thames. It was cold, wind-chopped and a rather unattractive shade of dull green, but its surface was teeming with life and colour. Old boats and new boats, large and small boats rowed boats, sailed boats and boats painted a hundred different hues spread out as far as the eye could see, stretching off into the mists that hung just beyond the closest bridge. The celebrations didn't stop at the edge of the river. Along the banks, the throngs of waving, cheering people, their smiles visible even from the middle of the river, all of them brandishing their nation's colours with pride...

'They're cheering for you, you know,' she murmured, patting his arm. 'They're so proud to be a part of you, each and every one of them. You should be congratulating yourself.'

England shook his head. 'Today is about _you_, your Majesty, please don't forget it. You're the one who's made it here. They all love you. And rightly so; you've been a wonderful Queen from the day of your coronation. I don't know what we'd do without you.'

'I daresay you'll manage,' she said, her smile fading a little. 'You always have done in the past.'

England nodded, but even as he did so, he felt a catch in the back of his throat and a tingling in his eyes. 'It won't be the same at all, though, Elizabeth, my Queen. Nobody will ever forget your reign... least of all myself.'

He found himself thinking back over the years, over his great Queens, the way that they had pledged themselves to their people and their nation with a steadfast love that struck hope and pride into the souls of every witness. Elizabeth, Victoria, and now this second Elizabeth too – strong women that the country could truly lean on, and that he couldn't help but love, even centuries after their passing.

He looked down at her satin-gloved hands as they neatly held themselves, and he remembered when her hands had been so small that his fingers enveloped them when he bent down to greet her. Little Elizabeth, Queen one day? It had seemed so hard to believe at the time. But now, here she was, an old lady, and his hands were still as smooth and young as ever. The endless cycle of life and death that these humans endured, these humans that he served only to embody...

He blinked hard a few times and was just clearing his throat to say something lighter when he heard a voice behind him that was absolutely unmistakeable in its energy, its brashness and its quintessentially American accent.

'So _there _you are, Artie! You disappeared, and then I got held up by some businesswoman hitting on me and it all sort of went downhill from there...' He looped an arm firmly through England's and bowed to the Queen with a flourish. 'Your Majesty, it's great to see you! How's the boat race going?'

'Alfred,' she said, giving a small, elegant curtsey of her own, 'it's wonderful to see you too. As you can probably see for yourself, the festivities are in full swing. My only regret is that it's rather miserable weather. There'll be no Canaletto lighting for the painters of today, I shouldn't think.'

'They'll just have to use their imaginations,' England said, 'and put some in. The light on the Thames was marvellous that day in 1752, I'll grant you, but even so, Canaletto exaggerated _just_ a tad.'

'Well, I guess he had to. What can you expect from your weather, Artie?' America smirked. 'You had to make a gamble and I guess it's not really a big surprise that the sky wouldn't play ball. Now, if we'd been doing it in _my_ country, I'd just 've picked a state that actually had a decent summer – '

'Sod off, you idiot, it's not my fault that I'm not the fourth biggest country in the world!'

America laughed, flashing his white teeth, and the Queen lifted her hand to her mouth and chuckled quietly to herself. 'You could have held it somewhere hot in the Commonwealth, I guess, like Australia... Oh, wait, sorry, Australia doesn't really have any rivers...'

England gave America a half-hearted shove and tried to scowl his disapproval, but it seemed to take far more effort than usual. He sighed, looking around the crowds of people, and suddenly noticed that there was quite a queue of people waiting their turn to speak to the Queen. The Duchess of Cornwall, Sir David Attenborough and a doddery old member of the House of Lords were all hovering discreetly nearby, looking curiously at America and the Queen as they laughed and chatted together. The old man met England's eyes and gave him a strange, puzzled look, and England wondered with a jolt of apprehension whether they might have met long before, when he was in the guise of some human or other. Soldier, secretary, policeman, singer...

'I'm sorry, your Majesty,' England said, taking Alfred's arm in a very firm grip, 'but I don't want to trouble you with this idiot's presence any longer. And I'm sure that there are lots of other people who want to talk to you. Let's go and look over the passing boats, A – Alfred,' he said tersely, bowing to the Queen one last time and then pulling America away with him.

'Have a nice day, your Majesty!' America called over his shoulder, and England elbowed him hard.

'You're so annoying that I'm surprised you're legal,' he hissed as they stepped out from under the red canopy into the drizzle. 'I almost wish that you hadn't come. You're showing me up in front of all those people...'

America suddenly looked serious. 'You don't mean that. Even your Queen was happy to see me.' He looked up at the leaden sky and then back at England. 'I know that you're stressed and the weather is grim, but you can't let that get you down. You're not having fun, and isn't that the whole idea of this thing? To celebrate?'

England sighed, leaning against the barge railings and huddling his coat up around his neck. A few raindrops fell on his nose, and he suddenly felt the urge to stick his tongue out and see if he could catch a raindrop on it too. Blushing slightly at his silliness, he glanced over at America, who was looking down at him, waiting for him to reply.

How tall he was, England thought, and how golden his hair looked, even when it was tousled and dampened like this, mussed by the wind and rain. His eyes were so very blue, like sapphires, cornflowers – or perhaps sea blue, or sky blue, the blue of those desert skies in Texas or Arizona that arched cloudlessly from horizon to horizon, like a great bowl placed over the land. They were never quite the same eyes twice, because they changed with the light on them and the feelings behind them; England could look into America's eyes a thousand times and see a different sort of life shining back at him.

England sighed to himself. America was no longer a child, by any stretch of the imagination, and although he often chose not to say so, England knew this better than most. America was a fully-fledged nation now, all grown up. He was rather reckless and impulsive, of course, but he was strong and proud and perfectly capable of looking after himself.

And still, England thought, with a rush of affection that surprised him, he was here. America was here, dragging him around, trying to cheer him up, wearing Union Jack spectacles and putting up with the lousy weather. He was looking into England's eyes expectantly, still waiting for him, still caring for what he had to say.

It was at times like this when England couldn't help but love him.

'I'm sorry, you're right,' he said, shuffling a little closer to America along the rail and looking out over the river, 'I'm just tense, that's all, and I'm taking it out on you because you're here to put up with me.' He looked up at America again with a small peace offering of a smile. 'And I'm scared that some of these old dignitaries will recognise me from their youths and guess who I am... Especially after I let my guard down with you and Elizabeth like that. "The fourth largest country in the world"? What was I _thinking?_'

America laughed, and England felt guilty as he noticed the relief there. 'Well, let them guess. It wouldn't be the first time someone's figured us out, would it? And it's not like they're going to tell anyone. Either they'll think it's just their old brains remembering the glory days or they'll twig and keep it to themselves. You don't have to worry, Artie.'

England looked out over the Thames, watching as raindrops sliced through the grey-green surface of the river. It might not be Niagra falls, he thought, or a Californian orange orchard, but it had a certain beauty all its own.

'I love the rain,' he said suddenly. He was surprised at how happy his own voice sounded.

America grinned and took his hand, cold from where he had loosely held the boat's metal railing. 'I suppose you'd be in a fix if you didn't.'

England gave a theatrical huff and folded his arms. 'I _do _have sunny weather _often_!'

America laughed. 'I know, I know. Arthur. Tell me why you love the rain.'

England paused and thought for a moment before answering. 'It's refreshing. Have you ever tried holding your face up to the rain? You should, it's lovely. And rain makes you appreciate sunshine more. It's dramatic, it provides contrast and inspiration. Even though you get cold and wet, you appreciate the warmth of your home so much more when you come in out of the rain.'

He glanced at America, who was listening quietly.

'Also... rain makes things grow.' He gestured at a row of plane trees on the opposite bank, their leaves providing shelter for the cheering spectators lining the riverside. 'Look at how green all the trees are.'

'Like your eyes,' America said tenderly, clearing a raindrop off England's cheek with his thumb. 'Your eyes are like spring leaves, they're so green...'

'Pfft, one doesn't just _say_ things like that out loud!' England said, feeling his cheeks heating up.

'Well, clearly you do, 'cause I just did,' America chuckled, and England found that they had somehow ended up close enough together for him to feel the heat of America's body through his coat. America was always warm, he thought idly. Why was he always warm, even though he had Alaska and Seattle and all those cold states in the North? He shrugged. On a day like this, he wasn't about to complain.

England felt America's arm loop around his waist and pull him a closer still, and he glanced away for a moment, looking around to see whether there was anyone important watching – this was the Queen's barge and it wouldn't do to be seen smooching _now, _of all times – but everyone seemed to be talking or looking at the boats or huddled with their backs to the rain. Nobody would see. He looked out over the river once more, at the crowds of people who probably all had cameras...

Gently but insistently, America tilted England's chin up to look at him again. Such warm sky-blue eyes, England thought, noticing with another warm surge of affection those Union Jack spectacle frames. He said they had been hard to get hold of. England should have told him that it was worth it, because they absolutely suited him. They brought out the blue of his eyes.

'Y-your glasses' new frames really are nice...' England said, rather breathlessly, because close proximity to America always seemed to give his heartbeat irregularity problems.

'Ha, I knew that you'd love them up close,' America grinned, and then leaned in to kiss England gently. England let his eyes flutter closed and smiled against America's lips, nuzzling his cheek gently. Then he looped his arms around America's neck, warming his cold hands on the exposed skin above America's coat collar.

America gave a reproachful gasp and fisted his hand in England's hair, pulling his head back slightly and bending his head to place cold kisses on England's neck. England felt his breath hitch in the back on his throat and wondered whether to shove America away and tell him to save the vampiring for later, but then America wrapped an arm around him from behind and pulled them flush against one another, and all thoughts of saying anything much diffused from his head like ripples across the surface of the Thames...

Until a loud wolf-whistle sounded behind him and he pulled away from America as though he had been burnt. Cheeks burning, England twisted in America's arms to the perhaps inevitable sight of Prince Harry standing behind him, smirking.

'"Alfred", "Artie",' he said, in extremely obvious quotation marks, 'why don't you come in from the deck now? You're getting terribly wet.'

England realised then that the rain had indeed picked up and that his hair was completely soaked. He looked up at America, who was rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly.

'He's right, you know, we are soaking,' Arthur said, and America followed him off the deck without comment. Arthur turned to face the Prince and bowed with all the dignity that he could muster.

'Thank-you for your concern, your highness,' he said, 'but please do refrain from calling me "Artie", _especially_ in public. I don't want _certain people _to get the idea that it's a suitable form of address for a... person... of my age and prestige.' He glared meaningfully at America.

'You know you love it,' America deadpanned, flicking his damp fringe out of his eyes. England resisted the urge to swear at him, and settled instead for a glare of even more intensity than before.

Harry sniggered. 'Well, I'd best go and update Kate on the situation. She's been awfully curious as to what's going on between you two; I suppose that snogging on the Queen's barge pretty much clinches it on the "special relationship" front –'

'But how rude of me!' England exclaimed, cutting him off, 'your Highness, I completely forgot to enquire as to the state of _your _love life. Mollie King of the Saturdays, isn't it... or did that one fizzle out last month? Wait – I'm terribly sorry – perhaps you've taken up with the beautiful Pippa Middleton, although I'm afraid I have no idea whether you two have seen any more of one another since that wedding. Royal gossip isn't really my forte, I'm afraid...'

'I'm rather glad to hear that – but also surprised – considering that the whole country seems to be obsessed with it,' Harry replied, looking noticeably less gleeful.

'Hmm. Not everyone in England reads chavvy pulp gossip magazines, thank the Lord,' England said kindly. 'I may be representative of a lot of national stereotypes, but that isn't one of them... Not yet, at least.'

'Well. That's good,' Harry nodded rather awkwardly and then dropped his voice. 'It was nice to see you today, America... England.' He gestured widely out over the river. 'I expect that you must be proud of all of this, Arthur.' He sighed contentedly. 'It's a wonderful country we have, isn't it?'

England nodded, and – sentimental old man that he was – he suddenly had to swallow before he could make himself speak again. 'Of course. I can't tell you how proud I am of... of every single one of you.'

America squeezed his hand.

For a moment, the three of them stood still, listening to the rain plink on the canopy above them and watching the sights of London go by. The buildings, the cheering crowds and the flowing river, the rain, the hundreds and thousands of Union Jacks, on cakes and napkins and glasses frames and painted onto faces...

England closed his eyes and felt all of it running through his veins, beating with his heart. All of these people had turned out to celebrate their Queen, and to celebrate that they were a part of him. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Harry whistled a few bars of the National Anthem quietly. 'I've heard that so many times today,' he said, laughing slightly, 'I can't make it leave my head.'

'Well. Just so long as it's out of the way when you play the tambourine tonight I'm not complaining.'

'Shhh!' he hissed. 'That's supposed to be a _secret!_'

'Sorry, sorry,' England laughed, 'my lips are sealed.' He cast around in his mind for a safe subject. 'Er... When I was watching the BBC coverage downstairs, I saw John Barrowman on the screen telling the audience – in his all-American accent, mind – that today was a day on which we should all be proud to be British. If I didn't watch Torchwood, I would have been utterly confused!'

'Maybe they'll assume it was wishful thinking,' said America, looking up at a tall building on the South Bank. A Union Jack fluttered on the roof, undulating in the wind, its colours bright against the sky. 'I'd be pretty proud to be British today, you know.'

Suddenly, England didn't care how many people were watching. He smiled broadly, stood on tiptoe and gave America a sound Jubilee kiss on the cheek.

**~O~**

* * *

A/N: Well. T**here's some Cheddar-Cheesy long-overdue Jubilee USUK for you. I'd like to just say that this story was not intended to be disrespectful to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Henry (that's his real name, incidentally), the Duchess of Cambridge or any other real person mentioned, however fleetingly, in this fic. I may have misrepresented the character of Harry slightly, due to the fact that I've never actually met him. However, he's always struck me as the type of guy who would be able to roll with the situation of seeing England kissing America in the rain on his Grandma's barge. =)**

'**Last two hundred years': **Queen Victoria celebrated her diamond Jubilee in 1897.

**The BBC Jubilee Coverage: **The BBC's commentary during the diamond jubilee's celebrations received some 2,425 viewer complaints. They also drew ire from the press, which called coverage of Sunday's river pageant "inane" and "tedious". The legendary Stephen Fry called the four-and-a-half hour broadcast "mind-numbingly" boring. "This is eggier and cheesier than a collapsed souffle," he wrote on Twitter. "Expected better of the Beeb."

It seems fair to assume that the Iggy that we know and love would also have been seething with indignation at this pathetic commentary.

**Horse on the Roof: **As the Queen's boat passed the National Theatre on their way down the Thames, the puppet horse 'Joey' – star of the play _War Horse – _galloped along the roof and reared up as a salute to the Queen. Queen Elizabeth is well-known for her love of horses, and she looked really pleased to see Joey.

'**Cannaletto Lighting': **Thames river pageants have been happening for centuries; one of the most large and famous examplesis the pageant that was held for the Lord Mayor's day in 1752. It was captured in glorious detail by the Italian painter Cannaletto, who painted hundreds of boats going down the Thames, illuminated from the side by a beautiful gleam of golden English sunshine. Unfortunately, the lighting for Elizabeth II's diamond jubilee was far less inspirational. The sky stayed stubbornly leaden throughout the pageant.

'**Australia doesn't have any rivers': **Obviously not true. Contrary to popular belief, Australia _isn't_ just one big desert. Its water doesn't just come from boreholes and the sea. Australia has quite a lot of rivers, and, as in most countries, the towns and cities have sprung up around them. Having the pageant in Australia wouldn't have been a bad idea, except for the fact that it's late autumn/winter there in June.

**Prince Harry's love life: **Prince Harry is not yet married (hey, that almost rhymes!), and so there is a great deal of speculation among the populace of England about which lovely lady this most eligible of bachelors is going to marry. Recently, he was dating the singer Mollie King of the Saturdays, and during the royal wedding there was some speculation that he might hit it off with Pippa Middleton (although there is no actual evidence to prove that this was ever a real possibility).

Incidentally, the British media is somewhat obsessed with the royals' love lives. Gossip magazines in particular can't seem to get enough of them. I imagine that this is somewhat wearing for the poor royal family - I mean, they never _asked_ to be famous - and it is one of the reasons why I never buy gossip magazines.

**Prince Harry playing the tambourine: **In the singer-songwriter Garry Barlow's jubilee single _'Sing'_ (is it just me, or does that sentence sound funny?), our ever-game Prince Harry had a cameo playing the tambourine. Unfortunately, I don't know whether he actually played the tambourine at the Queen's jubilee concert, but it's a charming idea. Sorry for any inaccuracy.

**John Barrowman: **John Barrowman, a popular Anglo-American actor (who appears in Torchwood, I believe, among other things), was filmed by the BBC on one of the Jubilee row-boats during the Thames pageant. I had no idea who he was until afterwards when I Googled him, and so I was _extremely _disconcerted when he told the cameras in a very American accent: 'Today is a day when we should all be proud to be British!' or something along those lines. It was one of the most confusing moments of my life.

I wasn't the only one who found it odd. The popular Times columnist Caitlin Moran made a point of mentioning it in her Jubilee feature the following weekend.

And speaking of Caitlin Moran...

* * *

**Omake - Twitter Weirdness **

The peaceful morning after the Jubilee celebrations was broken - in one London house, anyway - by a strangled yell.

'Hey, Artie, come and see this!'

England leaned out of the bathroom, brushing his teeth. 'Whap ith it? Alfwep, don'p pell me you're on your lapthop in _bed_...'

'Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come quickly!'

There was a sound of gargling and spitting, and then England came out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth.

'Also, for the thousanth time, don't call me Artie. How would you like it if I called you Alfie?'

'I'd think it was adorable,' America said, 'it's my Tumblr username, you idiot, so obviously I like it. But anyways. Look at this! Some person in the crowd took it yesterday, and then that Moran journalist chick you told me to follow _retweeted _it... and so did Elizaveta, that pervert...'

With a sudden feeling of trepidation, England took the laptop from Alfred - and almost dropped it in astonishment.

'_Bloody hell!_ How did... who would...'

'I know, right?' America said, sitting up properly in bed._ '_And we were only making out for like ten seconds before Harry interrupted us!'

'The wonderful world of technology we live in,' Arthur said sarcastically, scrolling through the comments, 'where you can't have a quick snog without some voyeur with a digital camera putting it all over the internet...'

** AnOtakuinLondon tweeted:**

_So, people. Does anyone know of this mysterious couple on #TheRoyalBarge, kissing during the celebration yesterday?_ _Her Majesty knows some pretty hot guys, huh?__  
_

** CaitlinMoran, HungarianFujoshi and 112 others retweeted this **_  
_

_Oh, it gives me such joy to see luuurrrrve broad-casted on the net for all to see. Thanks so much for breaking the tedium of the BBC coverage for me, you two. You may well have just saved me from a long and agonising death by boredom and overuse of the word 'iconic'._

** KikuNihon: **_With all due amusement and respect, are you two sure that it was entirely wise to kiss one another _

**I think that all of us here can empathise with AnOtakuInLondon... even if, like myself, you don't have Twitter, the sentiments are there. ****LONG LIVE USUK and the age of fangirl shipping!**

**Signing out,**

**Essence of Gold **

**PS: Cake is nice. Especially when it has a Union Jack iced on it. **

**OM NOM NOM. **

**And some tea to wash it down!**


End file.
